Saturday, May 26, 2012

After
my own bookish call for celebration, I would like to draw attention
to another book in a kindred spirit, namely Jeffrey Baker's Eat my Dust, Martin Luther! which comprises 96 essays on
American mysticism, beating Luther's originally posted bullets by
one.

When
I was approached for a book review, I initially felt both reluctant
(what if I have nothing good to say about it and hence waste all our
collective time, energy and resources) and curious (Martin Luther,
warts and all, I like, mysticism I like too, but how to feel about
dust?).

It
turned out that Baker does not only share my philosophy (or rather I
his) but that we use the panacea of humor to give our worldview an
amusingly absurd twist around the ears. There are parts of this book
that made me smile although I wanted to laugh, but in certain
situations (especially an exam invigilation) laughter may not be the
most appropriate reaction.

I
will share my favorite bit in which Baker muses about a strictly
amateurish tongue-in-cheek hobbyhorse of mine: astrophysics. He says
that no matter how easy the scientific texts are made for us lay
people (astrophysics for astrodummies) that he (and I
for that matter) always get lost the moment the apple hit Newton's
head!

But
it is not all fun and games as under his (collectively our)
fool-cap there is (or so we like to think collectively) wisdom at the
heart of the matter or the end of the road or sentence. I will give
you a few themes of his essay collection by categorically spoiling
the entire book for you (it is a joke, of course, not the book but
the spoiling part).

There
is a very Buddhist flair to the difference between finite self and
infinite Self, to this notion of a limited ego that craves attention
and fights for survival, the baser and more animal instincts of ours
versus the endless, immortal self or soul that transcends time and
space and is mainly concerned with cosmic health and well-being.

What
I liked here is Baker's definition or understanding that evil may
occur due to, evolutionary speaking, reasons of survival. That, for
instance, racism is a way of trying to forge a more superior group
and bond by eliminating others (Nazism or fundamental religion may
come to mind). Although such ideas are inherently sick, demented to
downright vicious, Baker sheds some light onto its motivations and
causes, namely a (Socratic) type of misleading ignorance in addition
to a misreading of the world. This lack of knowledge (empathy /
awareness) is the source of a lot of mayhem, war and destruction.

Furthermore,
Baker claims that those who are very insecure and overly sensitive to
criticism try desperately to protect themselves under the layers of
armor containing excessive pride. This often leads to a cutting-off
from others, inflates the limited survival-oriented little ego to
grasp onto false and empty straws, which eventually causes much more
damage than good to all involved.

On
the other hand, those who are humble (humility next to honesty being
one of my favorite characteristics at least blogging-wise) will have
a much harder time to convince the goal-oriented rest of society that
their path will bring the most benefits. Finally, since the infinite
self is so much more resourceful, not to mention blissful than
anything else in the world (universe, cosmos), we would strongly
benefit from tapping or plugging into it.

In
sum, I have thoroughly enjoyed the wit, wisdom and honesty of this
book and recommend it, qualms aside, to my dear readers as an
alternative or substitute to Arash's World. Chapeau, Mr. Baker, and
the next round's on you!

Saturday, May 12, 2012

As
a child I almost always cheered for the “bad” guy. When watching
He-Man, I wanted Skeletor
to win; I could not stand Tweety Bird or Jerry Mouse, or the Road
Runner, for that matter; I always preferred the “mean” cats and
the “wild” coyote. This is also why I never really enjoyed James
Bond except in those films where the special-agent showed his
vulnerable side, such as On her Majesty's Secret Service
(Lazenby's first and only foray) and the more recent Casino Royale.

Why?
Because I find the good guys generally boring. They are too perfect
and not all that human in my view, so I cannot fully relate to them
nor find them interesting in any discernible way. At least, the bad
guys have some weaknesses - if you want to call being evil a
weakness, that is - and more importantly, they more often than not
lose out.

This
sympathy for those who show signs of weakness can be extended to
various areas of life. For example, Nietzsche's idea of the Superhuman, the Übermensch, I find too bland. What is the
point of such perfection since there is nothing to improve upon. With
the exception of art perhaps, perfection means death and stagnation
since what is already perfect cannot -- and has no need for --
change. On the other hand, flaws make the person endearing, strange
as it may sound.

On
the flip side those who claim to have no weaknesses are blatant liars
or hypocrites. Take womanizers, for instance. They (or so they claim)
always get the girls and “play” them as if they were their toy or
piano. The word rejection is not in their repertoire, and they
(supposedly) laugh in the face of failure.

Such
people generally speaking strike me as dishonest. I believe half of
them may be actually gay, while the other half may be simply deluding
themselves. In reality, they must be unhappy or feel unfulfilled deep
inside and would most likely prefer a constant and life-long
companion instead of another pointless “one-night stand.”

So
who would be heroes to me? I must say I do like Batman and Optimus
Prime, but in general I prefer those heroes that have an Achilles'
heel, such as, well, Achilles or Siegfried with his soft (mortal)
spot on his back. They may be strong, but they are not invincible;
moreover, they are mortal. This is something that I can identify with
more than those who can survive anything and where there is very
little at stake for them.

Now
at the point of sounding a bit pretentious, my heroes are those who
turn what is seen as weakness into strength. That is good old
Mahatma, the frail little man who stood up against the powerful and
mighty British army and still won. It is Jesus whose cheek already
read turned the other side to receive the next blow like a man! Yes,
those who are “soft” (the gentle in gentleman) and
nonviolent, often mistakenly perceived as weak, are the real heroes
out there. So don't tell your friend to suck it up like a man
because it is their so-called weakness that makes them heroic, at
least in my mind.

And
to add here, one of my soft spots are the downtrodden and
misunderstood, especially those who suffer from unrequited love. The
ones who don't get the girl will at least - consolation prize - have
my full sympathy. I can, from previous personal experience, relate to
them; their failure in romance makes them so much more heroic and
turns them into a living poet regardless if they turn to writing or
not.

But
to be perfectly honest, my sympathy for so-called losers may have a
self-serving bias. When you see somebody who is worse off than you,
there is a certain kind of comfort. Not in a blatant finger-pointing,
“ha-ha” manner of course. One may feel superior, but it is also
strangely reassuring since all things considered, we may be slightly
better off than them.

However,
I like to believe that the “poor losers” strike a compassionate
chord within me. Not included are those who are losers but
think or try to convince themselves that they are very special; they
elicit mostly laughter. Yet when it comes to the genuine
losers, their humanity makes them not only vulnerable but gives them a touch of
honesty and dignity. For those I wish the best and hope that despite
not having succeeded in their endeavor, they will find the incentive and push to get it right the next time around.